


In Which There Is Light

by sunaddicted



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Future, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Cultural Differences, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Relationship Study, Sappy, Sappy Ending, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Traditions, True Love, good parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16936611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: “He's a carnivore! Daddy is acarnivore!” Barbara giggled.“I think the word you're looking for is cannibal, sweetheart”“He's acannibal! Save me!”





	In Which There Is Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobbitpuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitpuff/gifts).



> @hobbitpuff, your gift was supposed to be "Homecoming" but then you went through a very intense gobblepot phase so, I put it aside and this is the result - I hope you like it! *hugs*

_In Which There Is Light_

A strong gust of wind ruffled the small crowd waiting for the stoplight to turn green, making people shiver in their thick coats and bury their chins in the scarves looped around their necks in an attempt at soaking up as much warmth as possible, despite the fact that the air in Gotham in early December was positively freezing.  

Jim drew up the collar of Barbara's coat and tugged her woolen cap down over her ears, tucking in the tips steadily becoming redder because of the cold “Better?” He asked, smiling at her nod as he took her hand back to cross the street and hopefully get away a bit from the wind that was made all the more unforgiving because of the cars that zapped by at a speed that Jim was pretty sure was well above the limit, the drivers probably taking advantage of the rare lack of traffic to get faster to their destinations - he couldn't blame them: few things were as disastrous as Gotham's gargantuan traffic jams.  

“Why haven't we put up yet a Christmas tree, daddy?”

Jim blinked down at Barbara, completely unprepared to answer her question; he didn't know when Oswald had stopped celebrating Christmas - he suspected after Gertrude’s death - but Jim had went along with it without question because he had never really cared much for the holiday and, especially at the beginning of their relationship, he had been ridiculously grateful that he wouldn't have to put himself through the stress of finding a Christmas present for the other man.  Back then, Jim hadn't really grasped yet the fact that Oswald loved small and meaningful gifts or that he would cherish more a cheesy love letter over an expensive watch: Oswald was the rich one out of the two of them and he didn't need Jim to buy him pricey presents.

No, all that Oswald had ever needed was love and attention and once Jim had started to understand him better, it became easier to make Oswald happy and give him what he wanted: breakfasts in bed when the Lounge closed later than usual; forehead kisses to smooth away the frown between his arched eyebrows; fingers entwined together, casually holding onto each other as they talked in the middle of the GCPD; his favourite bath salts poured in steaming hot water before he even needed to ask; chocolates hidden in the pockets of his coats, replaced by candy when the summer's heat washed upon the city.  

 _Small things_.

Tokens of enduring affection.  

Barbara's small gloved hand flexing in his own naked own, vulnerable to the relentless bite of the cold, brought Jim's focus back on their daughter who looked up at him with inquisitive and hopeful eyes, patiently waiting for an answer to her question; Jim loved Barbara to bits but her curiosity knew no bounds and he felt strangely forlorn when he didn't know the answer to one of the inquiries - like in that case, as his brain tried to come up with a believable lie.  

Jim didn't know when Oswald had stopped celebrating Christmas, but he knew that he was going to do so again starting from that year because their little girl probably had dreamed of decorated trees and garlands and baubles while she waited in the orphanage for someone to adopt her.  

And Jim certainly wasn't going to shatter those dreams.  

He bent down and picked Barbara up, uncaring of the way her boots smudged his coat with slushy and dirty snow “It's still early, sweetheart” Jim answered as he kissed her cheek, purposefully tickling her with his moustache.   

Barbara pouted and her eyebrows pinched just like Oswald's did when he poured over ledgers full of numbers that didn't make any sense, trying to puzzle out where the money he couldn't find had been sneaked away; Jim rationally knew that Barbara couldn't really look like either of them but that wouldn't stop him from finding similarities he likely was the only one to see - except for Oswald, maybe: his husband did call their daughter's eyes “Gordon baby blues” when he gently told her to dry her tears after throwing a little tantrum or waking up from a nightmare.  

“Early?” Barbara fidgeted in her father's arms to lean back enough to look at him in the face “Everyone else already has one up”

What could he say? It was true: every shop seemed to have at least a smallish tree in their windows and there were fairy lights strung everywhere, across the streets and over the gargoyles, giving them an even more grotesque appearance in his opinion - what with the fluttering  lights dancing over their gnarled features.

Even his cluttered desk at the GCPD sported a miniature plastic monstrosity courtesy of one Harvey Bullock, who had happily switched the whiskey in his flask for eggnog and went around the precinct wearing a Santa's hat because he got a kick out of annoying Harper - Jim would miss him when he retired early in the new year “Papa likes to put it up a little later”

“Why?”

“It's..  traditional”

“Why?”

“You'll have to ask Papa that because I don't know, Babs” he admitted, mentally apologising to Oswald for purposefully unleashing Barbara's endless thirst for answers upon him “So, how about a nice hot chocolate to warm us up?” Jim asked, trying to distract Barbara from her questioning about the lack of Christmas cheer in their home.

“Can I have tiny marshmallows on top?”

“We can certainly ask the barista if they have any, sweetheart” Jim reassured, chest tightening with warmth as he saw the smile that lit up Barbara's face just before she rested her head on his shoulder, safely tucked under his chin.

Yes, they didn't care for Christmas in the least but their little girl deserved one to remember - the first of many more to come.  

* * *

Oswald took a fortifying sip of his tea before he abandoned his mug on the coffee table and started sorting through boxes that held decades’ worth of dusty Christmas decorations, glad that he hadn't thrown them out once he had taken possession of the manor even if back then he had been pretty convinced he would never use them; they were a little old-fashioned - all gold and silver, glass and hand-painted china - but Oswald was sure that if he paired them up with a little tinsel and fairy lights, Barbara would absolutely love them.  

He heaved a sigh as he contemplated the bare tree - brand new and rigorously made out of plastic or Pamela would have his head for even thinking about killing a real, living one - and tried to imagine how it would look like once he had finished with it. Oswald had never had anything remotely that nice during his childhood, all they had been able to afford were decorations made out of scraps that were hung around door knobs or taped to the yellowing walls of their dingy flat.

But he remembered being excited anyway.  

More importantly, Oswald remembered his mother being excited as she let him out of his bedroom on the 24th of December and welcomed him to a suddenly decorated house that smelled of stuffed cabbage and _mézeskalács_ ; in a typical Hungarian tradition, his mother had used to do all the work on her own when he was a child, so that she could tell him that the angels had come and brought them so much beauty as a holiday gift.  

A tradition Oswald was conveniently picking up since both he and his husband had seemingly forgotten they had a child now and would have to do something for the holiday.  

It was… _bittersweet._

Oswald was sure that his mother would have loved to see the delighted surprise on Barbara's face, she would have kept the angel aside so that they could put it on top together and before dinner she would have sneaked her granddaughter brightly wrapped _szaloncukor,_ which he didn't even have on hand because he had forgotten about Christmas like he had done every single year since his mother's death: he would have to make do with ginger biscuits, even if hanging them from the tree wasn't particularly traditional.

After another sip of his tea, it was ridiculous how invigorating he found the stuff, Oswald set to work and kept an eye on the clock to make sure he had enough time before Jim and Barbara came back home; he had given them a rather meticulous shopping list that he knew their daughter would make her father follow to the letter but still, it wouldn't take them too long to find everything - especially since he hadn't included many ingredients to prepare Hungarian dishes for their holiday feast: he didn't want everything to be about his heritage.

Jim was an American and they did live in the US, surrounded by different holiday traditions that Barbara would carry with her for her whole life - their Christmas was going to be a mix of cultures, tailored to their little family and, for that reason, even more singular.  

_Unique._

Just like them - patched together and a little imperfect but special.  

Thankfully life had decided to not be its usual hectic and chaotic self and at least they had been able to get Barbara some presents, sacrificing to the cause one of the rare afternoons they had managed to snatch for themselves; it hadn't been completely unromantic, though: they had had a late lunch in a tea shop and Jim had made him laugh with all his disparaging comments about the selection of little sandwiches they had been offered - Oswald had to agree with his husband that cucumber and butter truly was an unfortunate combination; they had walked around the city holding hands, huddling in front of the shops’ windows and bickered about what their daughter would have liked to receive - they had even gotten each other something small, so that Barbara wouldn't wonder why they didn't have gifts to open; Jim had bought him mulled wine and they had stood close together on the pavement to leech one another's warmth as they hailed a taxi to go back home.  

It had been… nice.  

And, much to his chagrin, the cheerful atmosphere had gotten to him.

Just a little.  

When they had adopted Barbara, Oswald had been worried about how they would adjust to having a child enter their family - someone who would need care and focus for many years to come - but he hadn't imagined that the biggest change in his life would be whether he celebrated Christmas or not; it had been remarkably easy to integrate Barbara in their lives and their daughter was perfect, sweet and playful.  

There wasn't a day he regretted adopting her.

Oswald had never fallen in love so fast with another human being: his mother had always been there, he couldn't remember even a second he hadn't loved her; his love for Edward had grown hand in hand with his trust in the other man and while the realisation that he was in love with him had surprised Oswald, the process had been everything but fast; his romance with Jim had been built one brick at the time and grown bigger over years of clashing and coming together - a love they had worked for, that hadn't come easy and had demanded them to fight for it.

Barbara, though, he had loved as soon as he had seen her; she had been sitting quietly by the window, a book open in her lap and lips pursed in a mix of frustration and confusion - it had felt natural to him to carefully sit down next to her, mindful of his bad knee, and try to ease the tension on her face.  

The blindingly bright smile she had given him had melted Oswald's heart - just like Martin’s had, so many years before that the memories were a little fuzzy around the edges and were covered in a golden patina that made him feel as if they belonged to another life.  

As usual, whenever he thought about Martin, a pang of regret filled his chest and Oswald frowned as he quickly started hanging cookies from the fake branches; even if he had managed to find his boy again, he had lost his chance to be a father to him: Martin kept in contact and visited often, doting on Barbara as if she truly was his little sister but there was a distance between them that couldn't be filled - a bond that had been stolen from them after so many years of silence that had been forced upon them when Gotham had been isolated from the rest of the country.  

Just another reason to add to his list about why he couldn't stand Jeremiah Valeska - and yes, he didn't care that now he went around calling himself the Joker and had neon green hair: he would always be a psychotic ginger brat in his eyes.  

Not even the Riddler irritated him that much: on the contrary, once they had both moved on from their respective betrayals, they had become quite good allies and worked remarkably well together - plus, he unexpectedly made a wonderful babysitter.  

Maybe it had been a rather anticlimactic end to their feud but so had been the beginning of their friendship - _unassuming._

Inadequate to describe what had gone down between them, the connection they shared.

“Papa, we're back!”

“Babs, take your shoes off first”

Oswald smiled at the tender exasperation in Jim's voice and, after shooting one last glance to the decorated tree, he made his way to the entry hall to greet his daughter and his husband “Hello” he murmured, helping Barbara to slide out of her coat and handed it to Jim, so that he could put it away in the closet “Did you find everything, sweetheart?”

“Even the poppy seeds!”

“That's great, I'm going to show you how to make one of nana's favourite desserts”

That was interesting: Jim knew that Oswald was a good cook and that it was because of Gertrude, but it was rare that the other man proposed him one of her recipes; he probably thought that it wouldn't be to his taste - the truth was, Jim would eat anything provided that it was warm and filling “Cool. What is it?” He asked as he sneaked his arms around Oswald and drew him close to his chest, lips naturally finding his forehead for a kiss.  

“ _Bejgli_ ”

“What's that, Papa?” Barbara asked, worming her way in the middle of the embrace, hugging the first pair of legs she plastered her cheek against and looked up to her parents.

“Poppy seeds strüdel, basically”

Jim hummed in approval “Nice”

Oswald grinned “You're not touching dessert: you'll start on the making of the rest of dinner while Barbara acts as my sous-chef”

“Ozzie, baby..”

“Nope, Papa is right: you're going to eat it all!”

Jim picked Barbara up and tossed her in the air, making her shriek “I can't believe it, my own daughter has been turned against me! What if I eat you, instead of dessert?”

“No! No! Papa!”

Oswald shook his head as he watched Jim playfully kiss their daughter all over the face, making _nom nom_ noises for every loud peck bestowed on her “Yes, sweetheart?”

“He's a carnivore! Daddy is a _carnivore_!” Barbara giggled.

“I think the word you're looking for is cannibal, sweetheart”

“He's a _cannibal_! Save me!”

* * *

 “Here you go, love”

“Hmm. Thank you” Oswald hummed as he greedily wrapped his hands around the steaming mug of tea and cuddled under Jim's arm, outstretched over his shoulders in a half-hug “I really needed this”

“You cooked as if you had to feed an army” Jim chuckled “That fish soup thing was insanely good”

“ _Halászlé_ ”

“That” Jim kissed the other's temple “I loved it”

“It didn't go over so well with Barbara”

“In my very limited experience, fish rarely goes over well with children”

Oswald arched an eyebrow “You're allowed to say you didn't like fish as a kid, that you drove your mother insane when she tried to make you eat some and that now that you're a father you feel incredibly guilty for being fussy”

How was it possible that Oswald always saw through him so easily? Any other person would have probably been annoyed by that, but it only made him feel understood “Stop teasing me” Jim whined.

“I see you're not denying it”

Jim pouted and stole the mug from his husband, taking a sip of his tea even if it was sweeter than he usually took it - those rare times that he had tea instead of coffee “Did you like your Christmas present?”

“So smooth, Commissioner Gordon: changing the subject” Oswald grinned as he stole back his mug, leaning up at the same time to briefly kiss his husband “I liked it. I'm going to sew myself a nice jacket with that Donegal Tweed you got me”

As if Jim knew the difference between the different types of tweed: he had just gotten what had caught his eye when he had gone into the rather upscale fabric shop, feeling like the clerk would have set his polyester suit on fire with her eyes if she had had that power “I wasn't sure about the tweed part” he admitted “I know you love fabrics and sewing” following his passion and learning from his father's notes; it was sweet, a connection that Jim honestly couldn't claim he had ever had with either of his parents - it wasn't that he hadn't loved them, of course: but his father had died so early in his childhood and after the accident, his relationship with his mother hadn't been the easiest.

“It's perfect, Jim” he reassured, caressing the other's thigh “Five golden stars for the first Christmas present you ever got me”

Jim chuckled “Can you believe that it really is the first one we ever got each other, after all these years?”

“I can barely believe that you started with a smashing success”

“Mean! I'm not _that_ bad at getting presents”

“True” Oswald conceded with a loving smile, half-hidden behind his mug; sometimes, realizing just how much he loved the other man still made his heart race in his chest and he couldn't help asking himself how he had gotten that lucky - how was it possible that he'd married such a caring man and had been given the possibility to build a family with him: it sounded unreal.  

It _was_ unreal.

But Oswald had learnt not to look a gifted horse in the mouth and he just enjoyed every day he got to spend with the other man by his side, revelling in the privilege that it was to call him his husband.  

“I've gotten you another little something”

“What?”

Jim smiled sheepishly as he plunged his hand between the cushions of the sofa and balanced on Oswald's knee a jeweller box “Well, actually Martin, Barbara and I got you another little something”

“You didn't have to”

“ _Wanted_ to” he corrected, taking from Oswald the mug and putting it on the coffee table so that he had his hands free to open the box “Go on. It took us endless hours of texting to come up with an idea we all agreed on in such a short time so, you better like it” Jim mock-threatened, an excited smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.  

Oswald rolled his eyes and took the box in hand and opened it without much ceremony “It's..” he scooped the thin bracelet out of the satiny cushion it was nestled on.

“Babs said that a bracelet would be prettier so, we went with it” his husband rarely cared about whether he wore something that society perceived as more feminine but suddenly, Jim was nervous - maybe they should have opted for the brooch, even if it would have given less prominence to the various precious stones they had picked.  

“It's lovely”

“Yeah?” Jim perked up and scooted closer, taking the bracelet from Oswald's fingers so that he could loop it around his wrist and clasp it closed “They're our birthstones: ruby for you, emerald for me, sapphire for Babs and citrine for Martin” he listed, caressing each tear-shaped stone “Your family”

“ _Our_ family” Oswald corrected fiercely before he slid his arms around Jim's broad shoulders and drew him closer, kissing him as his blunt nails dug a little in the soft fabric of the sweater that clung to his husband's torso in all the right places; Oswald tried to put into the kiss just how overwhelmed and ridiculously emotional he was feeling in that moment, his heart fluttering in his chest like a birdsong.  

_Our family._

_Forever._

Jim hugged Oswald tighter, kissed him back harder in an attempt at showing him just how much better he had made his life - how richer, how fuller of love, how warmer he'd made it.

And all that while just being himself, flawed and _perfect_.

 _So perfect._  

“I love you”

“I really love you too”

Oswald snorted, burying his face against the other's chest “Good because you're not allowed to feel any different about me”

“It's not like I would want to” Jim reassured as he entwined their fingers together; the ring they had chosen almost paled in comparison to the jewellery Oswald usually wore: they were unadorned bands of solid gold, slightly thinner than usually seen on men's fingers - delicate seeming but quite enduring in reality. He brought their entwined hands to his mouth and kissed Oswald's knuckles, smiling at the pleased hum the small gesture of affection gained him “Go to bed, you look tired”

“What about you?”

Jim nodded towards the mess on the carpet: there were empty boxes and torn wrapping paper all over the place, bearing testimony to Barbara's enthusiasm “I'll clean up a little and then join you”

“Leave the plates for tomorrow” Oswald ordered sleepily “I don't want to fall asleep without you next to me”

Could he love his husband more than he already did? Apparently yes, he could “Five minutes and I'll be there”

“Promise?”

“I do”

And if there was something Jim did, he always kept his promises - at least, since they had gotten together.  Oswald leaned up for a brief peck, fighting against sleepiness and his desire to just stay nestled in his husband's embrace so that he could stand up and get ready for bed “Five minutes” he reiterated “And maybe I might give you another surprise” Oswald added with a wink, chuckling at the naked desire on the other's face.

“You know what?” Jim stood up after Oswald and swept him up, kissing silent the surprised squeak that left his husband's mouth: they certainly didn't want to wake Barbara up “I think everything can wait until tomorrow”

“You know what?” Oswald parroted Jim, holding onto him as the other man carried him upstairs - and wasn't it such a turn-on, knowing that even after all those years Jim could still do it? “I think I wholeheartedly agree”

 

**Author's Note:**

> July - ruby; according to DC, Oswald's birthday falls on the 26th of July 
> 
> May - emerald; we don't know Jim's exact birthday but his first appearance in the comics was in May 1939 (detective comics #27)
> 
> September - sapphire; according to DC, Babs was born on the 23rd of September
> 
> November - citrine; Martin's first appearance in Gotham was during "Stop Hitting Yourself" (s04e08) which aired the 9th of November


End file.
